I’m mired in a depressive state the last couple of days.  I don’t recall ever feeling like this before.  I feel like because I’ve spent so much looking at myself and all my character defects that I am better able to recognize this.  It is so hard to describe this wave that I am currently riding.  I mean I wish I wasn’t on it, I wish I didn’t have to try to put it into words.  I wish it would just fuck right off.  But sadly this is my lot.  This is what I must try to live with.  If someone asks me if I am OK, the short answer is “Yeah I’m OK”.  What I want to answer and don’t is “No, I’m dying inside.”  There is something in my head screaming at me and I just want it to shut up.  I go through a million scenarios in my head over and over and over and over……..I want to be someone else.  I wan to be somewhere else.  I want to have a different life.  I want to feel normal. All these scenarios drag me out of the present and into the “what if” zone.  I have always had a hard time recognizing and defining my emotions but this just feels bad.  I know that much.  I know that this too shall pass, I don’t need to be ecstatically happy all the time.  I just want to be content, that would be enough.

I think I am going to try to tell some of my stories on here, maybe just as they pop into my head.  I was thinking about the first time I ever heard of anyone trying to buy drugs.  Not Tylenol from the drugstore, I mean drugs from a drug dealer.  I have this friend named Jeff, we’ve been buddies since early on in high school.  He used to live about a block away from me.  Now Jeff is the type of guy in high school that you should learn all your lessons from, lessons about how not to be a fuck up.

So Jeff went to Jamaica with his parents over Christmas one year.  While on vacation he got the idea to try smoking weed.  He came back and was talking about how much he loved it and how he wanted to get more.  Now maybe in Jamaica there are weed dealers on every corner, but this is the Ottawa Valley and it’s not like it’s easy to find there.  So Jeff finds out about this guy in our town who has a pretty rough reputation.  We hear rumors about how he’s connected to various crimes and how he’s been involved in a lot of dust ups.  You know basically a boy scout type that you really want to get to know better……  Anyway, Jeff gets in touch with this guy and asks if he can sell him some weed, or if he knows of anyone that could do that.  This dude agrees to meet Jeff to sell him a bag of dope and Jeff asks me to tag along as “back-up”.  I said sure, I had no real idea what to expect but I was usually willing to do pretty much anything Jeff suggested.  So we roll down to the main part of town to meet this guy and he shows up at the Beckers as Jeff and I are enjoying our coke slush’s.  He asks Jeff if he has the cash and Jeff confirms that he does.  He asks us to follow him and proceeds to walk down the sidewalk with us in tow.  We get about a block away, my heart is beating out of my chest, Jeff is looking very nervous.  This guy stops, turns towards us and asks for the money.  Jeff hands over a small fortune, at least to us, and is trying to be discreet about it.  Once the guy has the cash, he turns and starts walking away without saying a word.  Jeff yells after him, “hey what is going on?”  Now, this guy is huge to us.  In my memory he is a big biker looking guy (except in teenager form).  He has a bad reputation and is known to be a scrapper.  My heart sinks as I think “Uh oh, this is going very badly.”  This big teenage biker guy turns around and steps up to Jeff and says, “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, and I am not a fucking drug dealer!”  Boom, that’s it.  No weed, no money, our slushies are gone….

Jeff was pretty pissed about this and began to formulate all sorts of revenge plans.  Thankfully, he was more talk than action when it came to violence.  The guy could steal a car or break into a house, but kicking someone’s ass wasn’t high on his list of priorities.

Drugs are bad

 

 

I’m feeling very stuck today.  I have this shit running through my mind a lot lately.  I have some serious decisions to make that have been a long time coming.  I have spent the majority of my recovery trying to live in the present instead of letting the future drive me insane.  I feel like there is something to be said about prudent planning but why do I go crazy when I attempt it on my own.  Because I am fucking scared!!!!  The metaphor that I would use to describe this is:  When I am content and happy it’s like I’m listening to beautiful music.  When I start to get too into my own shit or life is coming at me a million miles an hour, it’s like listening to the worst insanely loud static.  Like having my head next to a loud speaker and someone kicks the volume up to max.  It hurts and makes me want to do almost anything to quiet the noise.  Drinking used to do this for me.  I could have a few drinks and suddenly the world just became a little bit more mellow.  Like I could tolerate the shitty neighbours music….

Well now I’m at a loss.  I know what I am supposed to be doing in this situation.  I should be meditating or reflecting on program.  I should be talking to people about it, I should be going to a meeting and getting this shit out.  It’s hard to live life on life’s terms.  I was going to try to get out to a meeting but I got home and domesticated life dragged me into the stuff that get’s done around here.  So for now I will write some of my feelings and I will reflect on my day.  I will have to get out of my own way and let life follow it’s course.  I will do the things that give me a small amount of peace and I will be grateful that I am not sitting here trying to find my way into oblivion….

I’m in recovery of my mind, body, and soul.  I put so much poison into my body that I was completely shutting down.  I’m lucky that I didn’t suffer through any seizures or organ failures.  There was a point in my life where I was having a hard time doing anything physical.  I don’t mean I couldn’t get out and run a marathon.  I was having a hard time with getting my shoes on, I could barely get up the stairs without feeling like I was going to pass out.  I used to have to take a break when mowing the lawn.  I didn’t have the energy some days to stand in the shower and I could barely get myself out of the tub if I had a bath.  When I entered into recovery I decided to work on getting my body healthy as well as my mind and soul.  I joined a gym and started to work on the stuff that I am putting into my body and it’s been going well I think.  I am still a work in progress but it’s about progress not perfection.  A fact that I really struggle to remember some days.  Like today, I step on a scale (which might be part of the problem) and I am up 3 lbs from the last time I did that.  My brain instantly relapses into a major case of the “fuck its”.  Why am I doing this, what’s the fucking point, why do I even bother?

Because my perception is that if I don’t see constant progress it means I must be failing.  I greatly dislike failing, which I think is human nature.  It is pretty normal to see a few pounds of weight loss in a week.  For me to expect to to see 2 or 3 pounds of weight loss per day is unreasonable.  But it means I need to slow my head down and keep that expectation in check.